


Life on Standstill

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Lots of side pairings, M/M, i tagged it all, main pairing is aruani, why did i tag it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin likes to consider himself a normal guy--he attends community college daily, his friends throw raging parties, he's a part-time barista/cashier at the local Starbucks--and life seemed almost bearable. That is, until he meets Annie Leonhardt, a reclusive Canadian girl from a dysfunctional family, and agrees to be roommates with her. From there, life gets a tad hectic, a little troublesome, a bit lovely--romantic? Sure, why not.</p><p>Set in modern Seattle. </p><p>[DISCONTINUED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. This is my first work on this website, so I hope it's decent enough and that you guys like it! I don't really have any notes to give BEFORE the chapter except the chapter are gonna be kinda short and the timelines are gonna be short but bear with me, okay? 
> 
> Also, I've only got the first four chapters written as I'm posting this so I'll try to keep pace with this.
> 
> And I'd also like to note that I have no idea where this is going. It's vague.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

She is breathtaking.

That is the only thought that runs through Armin’s head as he stares from across the café. She’s alone—which is fine, because she seems like that type of girl—leaning back in her booth on the wall to Armin’s left with her knees brought up to chest snugly, and scrolling away through whatever social network that is, on her sleek, black laptop. Her messenger bag rests faithfully at her side, with a few documents jutting out of the horizontal opening.

Through all the hustle and bustle of the café’s exuberant atmosphere, in his eyes, she is the very image of perfection.

From the strands of gold hair tucked securely beneath the grey beanie atop her head, to her fair-skinned face, complete with a tight, pink-lipped mouth, eyes like a cold, chilly breeze, and a curved nose that Armin can only find delightfully unique, to her baggy, loose-fitting sweatshirt she wears every time she walks in, to Armin she’s a goddess. And she walks in often. Too often just to _tip-a-tap_ away at her laptop.

She walks in every other day or so, and Armin sees her each time on his shift. Sometimes she’s there before he even clocks in, but anytime, no matter when, no matter what seems to happen prior to her arrival, there are never any cups of coffee or hot chocolate in sight. From what he’s heard, she doesn’t order. She never does. He understands that the coffee isn’t very good when Thomas’s at the makers, but they’ve got water too.

Armin honestly hopes she does order something, so that he can just _talk_ to her. (That seems a little lazy, when he thinks now.)

Perhaps he shouldn’t be staring, he thinks suddenly and frantically from his place at the register, and he flicks his eyes back down at the Sudoku book before him. How many sixes are in the fifth column, he thinks. But the question goes unanswered, as his thoughts drift. He rests his head in his palm and taps his pencil against the thick pad of paper.

From the identification badge she wears and apparently forgets to remove once off campus, he can tell she’s a student at the community college. When he’d first seen it, he thought that he’d seen just about everyone who attends. Do any of his friends know her?

He sighs dreamily.

Oh, what would she think of a man— _boy_ —like him? It’s nice to think that she’d tolerate him, at least, but now he thinks that that’s entirely unlikely. Who’d want to talk to some useless blond kid who works at the local Starbucks? When he thinks about it, even he wouldn’t. Eren’s hard voice echoes in his head, _Quit_ _bein’ so hard on yourself. You’re not useless, you can do things I can’t!_ Sure, I can, Armin thinks flatly. If Eren can place top ten on the class charts in high school, what can Armin do?

The sudden, inopportune thought of Eren sweeping the girl away fills Armin with dread, and he quickly and furiously shakes his head. Now you _really_ have to stop thinking about it, he chides, much to his own annoyance.

A tap on his shoulder yanks him from his thoughts and he squeaks, turning to the (freckled) culprit.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” the latter says, rubbing the back of his neck, coyly, “I didn’t mean to scare you, Armin.”

“Oh, Marco,” he sighs, a hand on his thumping chest, “I-It’s fine. I’m just jumpy. Did you need something?”

Marco beams brightly at the question. “Your shift’s over, buddy! I’ll take it from here.” That surprises Armin. Had his four hours passed already? He briefly wonders how long he’d been staring at the girl to make the time rush by. The thought makes his eyes dart back to her booth to find that she had already gone, without any evidence that she’d been there in the first place. _Oh_. Armin suppresses the urge to sigh in disappointment, and forces a smile for his co-worker.

“Okay. Thanks for telling me, Marco.” Good, now ask him. Ask him about her, Armin. Instead of giving in to his troublesome thoughts, he simply gives a flimsy wave of his Sudoku book as he departs from the counter. No point in bothering Marco about it.

“No prob,” is the faint response as he gets to the workers’ quarters.

Once he gets his hat and apron off and on the hook on the wall, he clocks out, retrieves his keys, phone, and coat from his locker, slips a five dollar bill into the donation jar, and with a final goodbye to Marco (and Jean from his place in the drive-thru), he leaves the café, rushing for the bus stop and frantically fishing through his pockets for the correct amount of change for bus fare.

The afternoon is comfortable, and the temperature is on the borderline of warm and cold—what one could call just right. Brown and gold leaves are congregated in heaps and piles on the sidewalk, with a few loners laid flat on the pavement. A cool breeze caresses his round cheeks and he shivers, pulling at the collar of his coat to cover them. A cold front, he notes. Autumn is finally setting in, but oddly already sliding into winter. He slips his hands into his pockets, the change held tightly in one fist, and sinks into his collar. Why he hadn’t brought a thicker, hooded coat, he didn’t know. Must have slipped his mind.

After a series of sharp turns and constant stumbling into pedestrians and apologizing, he arrives at the stop. The benches are empty, save for a trio of old men droning on about the economy and what sounds to Armin like abortion, with a few mentions of Obama in their jumbled conversation. Armin checks his watch. Oh, good, he thinks brightly. He’d arrived a solid six minutes early. With a satisfied smile, he sets himself on the sheltered bench adjacent to the old men’s. One of them shoots a glance his way, and he nods respectfully to him, eliciting the same gesture in response.

Stretching his arms out with his hands on his lap, the blond leans back, exhaling placidly.

However the peace is shattered not even a second later when a startling fit of vibrations sets off in his pocket. He jumps, mouth clamping shut so not to draw the seniors’ attention, and quickly pulls his phone from his pants. A text message. From Eren. Uh-oh.

_yo_

How vague. His thumbs work quickly to tap a three-letter response, _“Hey.”_ The dreaded speech bubble with three dots appears, and he waits patiently.

_party tonight_

_at Reiner’s_

Oh, joy, Armin thinks plainly, another rager at Reiner’s apartment, where the landlady will have to shut everything down because things got too wild. He suddenly recalls the previous party he attended and how _loud_ and _cramped_ it was. He remembered wanting to go out to the balcony for air but couldn’t, because they gotten to that too. There was literally no space at all to relax. Can’t wait to be squished against the wall.

But there could be light in it; _she_ could be there. There was a slight chance, perhaps twenty percent, maybe ten, but you can meet anyone at a party. And if she truly _is_ a student at the college then Reiner _would_ invite her.

As if reading his mind through the phone, Eren sends another text:

_not the crazy kind tho_

_more personal_

_just the gang_

_you know sasha, connie, bertl, marco, horseface, all those guys_

Ah. How disappointing.

_gonna watch movies n shit_

“Mm,” the blond hums in acknowledgement. _“Sounds great. I’ll be there.”_ It is strange for someone like Reiner to hold a regular hangout, rather than his usual college parties. He’s a wild guy, after all. Small events are not really his forte. But a small get-together does sound nice.

 _great_ , is Eren’s potentially happy response. A minute passes, then he sends another text.

_he says bring some nutella and lil debbies_

Fair enough. Half a minutes passes this time.

_mikasa says bring a jumper_

_chilly 2nite_

_c u then_

_“Kay, bye,”_ he texts, ultimately ending the conversation, chuckling at Mikasa’s doting, motherly command. And then he’s filled with bubbling anticipation and excitement of the night to come. Admittedly, social events are not his thing, the same way “small” isn’t Reiner’s thing, but it’s Friday, midterm have passed already, and a little party with friends is probably what everyone needs. But he hopes Connie and Sasha don’t make thing too crazy (it has happened before), or that Eren screams so loud the neighbors decide to make a call (has also happened).

“Hey, young man,” an elderly voice calls politely, grabbing his attention. The old man pointed down the street. “Bus is coming.” Armin’s head turned in the direction of the man’s wrinkled finger and saw the bus approaching.

“Oh!” He offers a grin to the senior citizen. “Thank you.” With that, he stands with the old men and when the bus comes they board it.

He rides it all the way back to his apartment building, which regrettably is the same as Reiner’s. Night of loud partying are suddenly ruminated and Armin shudders as he makes his way up the external steps. His keys jingle rhythmically in his coat pocket. A stronger breeze combs through his bowl-cut and he trembles like a newborn puppy. He makes an urgent note to dress in layers tonight, unconsciously thanking Mikasa for whatever reason.

When Armin finally reaches the seventh floor, he sees his neighbor’s delinquent kid passed out on a lawn chair, a joint loosely clasped between his index and middle fingers. “A little early to smoking a doobie, Daz,” he comments as he passes. The teen grumbles in his stupor and it’s suddenly as if he’s going to lash out at Armin so he quickly unlocks the door to his apartment and scrambles inside.

He breathes in idiotic relief.

Home safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lame ending, I know. But what do you think? Tell me in the comments, or leave a kudos!


	2. Party at Reiner's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aforementioned party. Armin gets a surprise.

_“Armiiiin!”_ his friends greet in amusing, singsong unison with raised hands when he _finally_ gets to Reiner’s apartment.

As they’d all been apparently expecting, Armin is the last to arrive later that night, which, in retrospect, is probably a good thing because Sasha would’ve eaten the _Little Debbie_ cakes before the rest of them could get even there. So he holds no regrets for getting on the wrong bus after exiting the dollar store and especially since they’d been placing bets on how long he’d take to arrive.

“Ha-ha-ha,” he laughs sarcastically when they tell him. How typical. The group is curled up in blankets in the living room and scattered about, the absence of a decent hater evident to them now. From the looks of the flat screen and the pathetic tears already sliding down Connie’s cheeks, they’re in the middle of the intro to _Gattaca_. He almost laughs, but that doesn’t seem appropriate, as the neglect of the main character as a child is no laughing matter and he had cried too. So instead, he stretches, bag still in hand, and kicks his shoes off and places them neatly next to the pile already forged by his messy friends.

When he looks around, he familiarizes himself with Reiner’s uncharacteristically comfy living area. The front door leads straight into it, with a hallway to his left leading into the bedroom and bathroom. The living room is a spacious region; there’s a wall separating it from the kitchen and on that wall leans a wide Prussian blue couch, on which his friends lay and are leaning on as they watch the movie. On the farthest wall from the front door sits a velvet loveseat—and why someone like Reiner owns one is beyond Armin—with the balcony door to its right. The carpet is an odd beige color and the walls are an eggshell white.

But it’s the perfect setting for movie-watching, as proven by the rowdy group he tends to call his friends.

Eren waves lazily with a mouthful of popcorn from his slumped position on the floor and Mikasa nods beside him, already too engrossed in the movie. A few more acknowledge him individually—Bertoldt, Marco and Krista—asking things like, “How are you?” or “Where’ve ya been, buddy?” or “Did you get lost?” but the rest of them either aren’t expected to or simply didn’t care; and Armin’s fine with that. Bertoldt looks rather uncomfortable next to Ymir and Christa, and Armin can see the beads of sweat gleaming on his forehead. Ymir is slouching on the couch and paying more attention to Krista than the movie itself, occasionally pressing kisses to the blonde’s neck. Not that she minds but she squirms, and Armin imagines it’s hard to watch a movie as good as _Gattaca_ with your girlfriend tacitly flirting with you.

Sasha is munching on some potato chips, sprawled on the carpet with her legs thrown over Connie’s lap and her head resting comfortably on Mikasa’s thigh, somehow obliviously pointing out the two people she depends on most. Marco and Jean are not even watching the movie but instead are leaning against each other on the loveseat with handheld gaming devices in their hands, and whispering little incoherent comments on each other’s gameplay.

They all seem comfortable. However, the host is missing from the scene.

“Ah, Armin,” Bertoldt says when he looks around for Reiner. “You can put those in the kitchen. Reiner’s there.”

Sasha’s head shoots up. “What does he have? More snacks?! Gimme!” Mikasa forces her head down before she can spring up while Armin scurries into the kitchen which is lit up in bright contrast to the dark and flickering living room.

Reiner’s thick, bulky figure is at the kitchen counter, wide hips swinging slightly at the music in his earbuds as he empties a bag of Chex mix into a plastic bowl. The smaller blonde stifles a snort of laughter.

“Hey, Reiner.”

“Who dat?” He turns and sees Armin; his face erupts in a grin. “Armin! You made it— _and_ you brought the stuff!” He goes to slap a hand on the boy’s back, causing him to squeal. “Heh, whoa, sorry about that, man. Forgot you were fragile.”

“I am not fragile,” he snaps, rubbing a hand on his sore back. “You’re just strong.”

“Ain’t it the truth,” Reiner chuckles, somewhat flattered. “Oh, you can set that down over there.” He gestured toward the kitchen table in a darker corner of the room before turning back to preparing the snacks.

“Sure thing.” When Armin turns to the little round table, he realizes that someone is sitting there—a girl. But _who she is_ , is what makes Armin’s eyes grew wider. She has her back turned to him, messy locks of golden hair free from any hat or bun, and petite figure cloaked in loose gray sweats. Beside her is a bowl of pretzels, from which she plucks two at a time from, and a long can of Arizona tea. But most significantly, she has an unmistakable black laptop in front of her, its screen bright and shining a halo of light around her.

Armin’s jaw slackens. What—How—W-Why—?

She’s here—really, really here—even after he’d hoped and hoped that she would be _before_ he even knew that it wouldn’t be a huge party and how is it possible? How did the heavens answer his prayer after he’d taken it back?

He skitters over to the table and gingerly places the bag down next to her, his cheeks burning hot as he tries not to gain her attention. Luckily, she does not move or react, and he scampered on careful feet back to Reiner. “Ah—um—Reiner?”

“Uh, yeah?” the sturdier blond says while chewing on a circle-shaped pretzel. “’Sup?”

Armin hesitates, swallows, and then leans in close to Reiner, cupping a hand at his mouth. Reiner leans in as well, catching the drift that what he needed to say was meant for his ears only. “Th-That girl over at the table…who is she?”

“Oh, Annie?” Reiner whispers back. “She’s my cousin, dude. Canadian. ‘Member that trip I took last week? I had to drive all the way to _Alberta_ to get her. Took me a whole day. She goes to the college. Er, registered there. Haven’t you seen her around?”

“No—well, yes. She comes into the café often and just sits there on her laptop.”

“Yeah, that sure sounds like her,” he sighs. “I put together this little movie night because she doesn’t really get out much. I thought she could meet the gang, but now she’s just tumbling away on her own.” Their eyes flick to her as she downs the last of her tea. “I’m just in here to keep her company.”

It’s all so strange, Reiner being so doting on her. Although he _had_ patched him and Bertoldt up after incidentally rough games of soccer and made everyone hot chocolate on particularly frigid nights, he never took him for the caring older brother type. Though Armin may not know so much about their relationship, the two seem to be close.

“When I introduced her to everyone, she didn’t even bat an eye, just ‘hey’,” he impersonates in a dull, mirthless voice, “and then she’s in the kitchen. I mean, I’m trying to help her.”

“Oh.” Armin ponders for a moment. “Wait, why does she need help?”

Reiner looks suddenly surprised by his question but immediately sobers up. “Well, uh…little man, you can’t tell anyone, okay?” Once Armin nods he continues. “Alright. Little personal family matter here. Annie’s dad is batshit. Has schizophrenia. And he was abusive on her and used to beat her daily. They _used_ to live farther north than here, but I ended reporting him on a visit and he got taken away. Er, arrested. Since she’s nineteen, there’s really no need for paperwork on proper guardians so now she’s livin’ with me, like some kinda terrible TBS sitcom.”

“Reiner, that’s against the rules.” That’s all he can say after all of that. Not even a question about Annie’s personal life. It just seems…rude.

“I know, and ye olde landlady hates my guts and is probably out to get me,” Reiner groans, leaning against the fridge. “She’s been staying here for a few days and I’m getting the feeling that the old bat is on to me. _Fuuuck_ , this is frustrating the crap outta me!” It sounds like he’s going to say, _Thanks for bringing it up, Armin_ , but he doesn’t and Armin is glad for that.

Then, suddenly, a light bulb goes off in Reiner’s head, or that’s what it looks like as his eyes spring wide open and a smile stretches at his cheeks. Armin almost takes a step back, and he regrets not doing so. Reiner wraps a beefy arm around his slim shoulders and pulls him closer in a manner that’s so uncomfortably friendly.

“I just got an _awesome_ idea, little man.” A scream itches at his throat but he keeps it at bay. His body temperature rises in a dramatic fashion and he squirms in the burly man’s hold. He refuses to ask what the idea is, but that doesn’t prevent Reiner from blurting it out, at an embarrassingly high volume for all to hear. “She can stay with you!”

 _“Shh!”_ from the makeshift theater and a, “Keep it down, will ya!?”

Armin’s head darts toward Annie and freezes when she locks gazes with him. Her eyes are as cold as he always sees them as, but there’s something else. Annoyance. Something cruel, or rude. Something harsh. But still he melts. His cheeks are no doubt ablaze. He averts his gaze immediately and he turns back to Reiner, hoping she resumes her activities as well.

“A-Are you insane?!” he hisses under his breath. “Didn’t you hear me when I said that it’s _against_ the _rules?_ ” He struggles to get out of Reiner’s grasp. “M-Miss Gunner will kick me out for sure!”

“But the hag likes you!” Reiner pushes, grinning, “You can probably convince her to let you have a guest.” He turns Armin around and holds him with his arm loosely but securely hooked at his skinny neck. His small hands fly to his arm to attempt to pull him off. “Come ooon! We’re like brothers! Do me this solid!”

“Are you not hearing me?” Armin whines. “She won’t let up, not even for me. She’s strict with the rules!”

But Reiner is off in some other reality. “Oh, you two could get along so well. You have so much in common! You’re both short, you’re both blonde, you’re both reclusive and anti-social, your names both start with A—“

“This is feeling _very_ one-sided, Reiner,” Armin retorts flatly.

“And I bet you two make a cute couple.” That makes him clamp his mouth shut and his actions to stall. “Yeah, I saw the way you looked at her. When you two stared at each other like that,” he pauses to dramatically wave a hand through the air and his fingers to go from a fist to an open hand, “ _puh!_ Fireworks!”

Reiner is certainly working Armin’s last nerve, but it seems his nerves aren’t the only ones being worked. A loud snap sounds in the kitchen and their eyes fly to Annie, who’d shut her laptop in utter annoyance. She turns swiftly to them, and when she does she _glares_ so harshly, Armin is suddenly reminded of Mikasa when someone messes with Eren. Not good.

Annie huffs through that adorable nose, tucks her laptop under her arm and takes the bowl of pretzels in the other hand, standing from her chair. “You pissfarts are too noisy. I’m going to your room, Reiner.”

“Uh, okay,” he hears above him, and they both watch her exit the kitchen and cut through the living room, earning a glance from Mikasa and Connie, and she disappears into the next hallway.

Armin is then freed from Reiner’s hold and he’s surprised when no more is said on the matter of where Annie stays for the rest of the night, especially since Bertoldt slips into the kitchen to ask what’d happened to make her leave.

While Reiner stutters out an excuse, Armin decides to join the rest of them and watch the rest of Gattaca. He slides in next to Eren who’s now intrigued by the appearance of the disabled Jerome. But suddenly, he can no longer focus on what’s before him, and all humorous comments passed by Ymir and emotional cries from Connie and even the movie itself falls on deaf ears. All he can think of now is Annie, and her sharp-chinned face and her nose and her eyes—oh, Lord, her _eyes_ —and he wonders again if he has a chance. If she _could_ like him. But now he’s confident. He feels like he can ask her things, get to know her.

She’s left him in a lovesick daze. He can’t describe her breathtaking or stunning now; she is far beyond that. What is she now? A witch. An enchantress. No. But she must be! Because now he slouches greatly till his back touches the carpet, and sigh dreamily. She’s got him under some sort of spell. Because all he can think of her now is:

  _Wow_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Armin gets sick. His friends pay him a visit.


	3. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin comes down with a worrisome illness. His friends pay him an awakening visit.

Armin doesn’t properly see Annie for a while—one week, at least—for the main reason of avoiding Reiner _and_ Annie and the floor that his—their—apartment is on. And in that period, a very dull ache throbs in Armin’s chest while he works the register, all the while refusing to look up and stare at Annie. The pain is a tingling sort of pain, and it’s just enough to annoy him. It distracts him. But he mulls through; it’s not the first time something like this has suddenly come up and pestered him—in fact, this is probably the least powerful of anything to bother him. His sprained wrist definitely tops it.

No big deal. I can handle this.

However, as time ticks on and Annie is constantly pushed to back of his mind, he finds it hard to focus on the customer or their orders. Odd, he thinks. He’s usually always able to focus on the task at hand. He is immediately led to the deduction that his lack of sleep caused him to fall ill. So when the time for his break comes, he requests a small break.

His boss, a kind, old man with a lovely smile, grants the request, and whether it’s because Armin can’t focus on the customers or because he’s concerned for the boy, he can’t tell and ultimately chooses not to worry about it. So after earning a glare from Thomas for making him to take over him, Armin heads home.

Little does he know just how _ill_ he is.

Avoiding Reiner is easy when he’s home sick, which is perhaps the only light to being a lanky body of soreness. Armin questions with every pang in his chest what is wrong with him. When he holes himself in a fort of thick, fluffy blankets and curls into himself, he tries to shake the contemplations and get some shuteye. But now he can’t even do that. He’ll groan and switch positions and curl a different way but sleep won’t come. And it’s frustrating.

It is _so_ frustrating, this unpleasant sickness. It’s angering and bothersome and stressful, because he physically can’t do anything he _wants_ to do. Wanna read a book but can’t focus; wanna sleep but can’t sleep; wanna _feel_ happy but can’t because he’s depressed. He feels no desire to eat now, but he knows he must and yet he doesn’t find the strength to make his own meal. What is wrong with him?

How he’s managing without collapsing is a wonder. Perhaps, a miracle.

It’s as if his body is hiding a secret about him, and he’s been left in suspense of his condition. Respectively the suspense has left him distressed and frightened for himself. What should I do, he questions frantically. I can’t see a doctor; with this rent, I can’t afford it! What do I do? What do I do!?

In his panic, he finds himself rapidly organizing the books and papers on his desk, cleaning his room and kitchen, and even fixing himself up to the point of looking fairly presentable. It’s awfully strange. Since when had his slight untidiness bothered him in the least bit? Then he recognizes the cause of the actions quickly; obsessive-compulsive disorder. That means…What does that mean? That could mean many things! His head feels like the static on a television with no cable.

The entire week is illogical, beyond comprehension, and, simply put, tiring.

It’s only when he receives a visit a certain group of rowdy teens that the answer becomes clear to him.

It happens the way their normal visits do; it starts with a shave-and-a-haircut sort of knock at the door. After a moment of fumbling with his covers to disentangle himself with them, a curt exclamation of, “Arlert, get off your ass! We got you some Schlotzsky’s!” followed. Oh no, Ymir.

“Ymir! Please be nice this time,” came Christa’s chiding as he made it out of his room.

“Tch.”

“I hope he’s alright.” Bertoldt.

“Yeah, I mean, he never takes off work, or skips a class!” Marco.

“Whoa, holy _shit!_ Is that Daz? Is that why it smells like weed here?” Armin swallows. _Reiner_. His comments are followed by a fit of mirthful laughter. Ah, Connie. Armin pulls a blanket from the couch in his living room as he passes, wrapping it around himself.

“Armin,” a smoother, yet more concerned voice called. And Mikasa’s here too, Armin thinks, quickly shuffling to the door. “Please open up.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” When he opens the door, a blast of cold wind rushes in and he pulls the blanket tighter around himself. He gives a meek smile to his friends. “Hey. How’s it?” Thankfully, it’s only the handful from the group, and not the entire bunch. That would have been disastrous.

Ymir chokes back a laugh. “You look like shit.” A swat from Christa and there’s a tiny explosion of hair on the side of the tall girl’s head. She sneers at her girlfriend, and she gives a similar but more mocking look.

“Heeeey, buddy,” Connie says with a grin, “How’re ya feeling?”

The petit blond gives a shrug, turns, and motions for them to come in. “I’ve been _way_ better.” That’s all he can say without complaining about himself.

“The very minute we heard you were absent from Levi’s class, we knew something was wrong,” Marco says from behind him. The vent of cold air is closed as soon as they’re all in, and suddenly it’s warmer. Armin pulls and folds the blanket neatly. “Um,” he mumbles, setting on his coffee table,” sit anywhere, I guess. I just cleaned.”

“ _Cleaned_ ,” Mikasa questions with a raised brow. “If you’re sick, you should be in bed, not cleaning.” _If_ I’m sick.

He only hums in dismissal and adjusts the blanket square at the exact center of the table. “Oh. Yeah,” he hears at his side, and there’s the all-too-familiar gentle rustling of a plastic bag as his gifted lunch is set down on the table by his hand. When Armin looks up, Ymir raises her brows at him. “What? Thought you liked Schlotzsky’s. Or was it Subway? Or Charley’s?” She looks confused with herself.

Chuckling, he takes the bag and leans back against the couch. “All sandwich places, so I don’t mind much. What kind is it?”

She plops down and stretches out on the couch, letting her hand hang off. “Oh, I dunno. Ask Christa. I just the one who remembered you like sandwiches.”

“How nice of you, Ymir,” he coos, causing her to nudge his head with her ankle.

“It’s, uh,” the smaller blonde pauses for a moment, leaning down with her hands over Ymir’s dark head, “It’s angus and cheddar with lettuce and bacon ranch.”

“Ooh.” Armin smiles as he pulls the sub from its wrapper. “Thank you both.” Connie skitters over and peers down at him, watching him take the first bite.  Armin raises a brow at him. He’s staring at the sandwich. “Can I help you, sir?”

The buzz-cut boy blinks himself out of his stupor, then looks to Ymir. “Y’know, if he’s sick, he really shouldn’t be eating a sandwich. He should eat some hot soup; now allow me.” His hand shoots out to nab the other boy’s lunch, but Armin quickly turns and scoots closer to Mikasa’s legs, resting his head against them, the gesture saying, _“Please protect me and my sandwich, mom.”_ She pats his head and shakes her head at Connie.

“Aw, c’mon,” he whines to Christa. “Bacon ranch? How come Armin always gets the good stuff?”

“Because you’re not sick, Connie,” she scolds. “When _you’re_ sick, I’ll get you a decent sandwich.”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “Maybe Armin’s not sick. _Maybe_ he’s faking it to catch a break.”

“Wow, you’re quick to turn on me, Connie. All for a sandwich. You’re insane,” Armin replies jokingly through a full mouth. “Sorry, but I can’t share, because I’ve been having issues with my appetite. And _thiiis_ hits the spot.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“For the life of me, I can’t remember. Haven’t been to focus at all.” Armin eyes Reiner and Bertoldt, who are sitting on the opposite couch. Reiner is staring and tapping at his fish bowl, eyes flicking with each suave movement of the goldfish. Armin can tell he’s itching to tell him news about Annie but is being patient with the current subject. Bertoldt looks concerned for Armin.

“I don’t understand,” the tall boy mumbles, tilting his head, “Lack of concentration _and_ lack of appetite. What exactly is wrong with you?”

“Oh, it’s not just that,” he replies, waving a finger around and sighing sadly, “I’ve got OCD, apparently, and insomnia, too.” He swallows his mouthful. “Oh, and depression and there was another—What?” He blinks at their nerved expressions. They look shocked at his confessions. “ _What?_ ”

Reiner blinks. “You seem pretty calm about this, dude. Aren’t you worried at all?”

“Well, it’s not like I have the sniffles.”

“Yeah, but OCD? Depression? Insomnia?” Connie inquires, “Aren’t those, like, disorders? You should definitely see a doctor, man.”

Armin shakes his head. “Can’t afford a doctor.” They’re all silent then, either in thought or dwelling on the situation, it seems. He sighs. They’re obviously trying to help him. “Guys, I’m fine. Really. I mean, I’m eating now, and my chest pains are gone. I’m fine, I’m fine.” They seem to need more convincing but don’t pester him on the matter, leaving the room in uncomfortable silence. They check their phones, stare into space, continue tapping at the fish bowl but Armin tries to think, think about _something_ that could’ve gone wrong with him. He retraces his steps from that Friday night.

And then Annie comes to mind again.

But this time he lets her through, little by little, from the back of her head to those cold eyes to that scowl, and suddenly he shivers are sent down his back. And suddenly, he feels alright. No pains in the chest, no nothing. The rhythmic crescendo of drumbeats in his chest replace any soreness, and it’s a grand feeling. Now every thought of her he’d meant to have in the past week, every fantasy he’d had at the counter at Starbuck, everything he’d ever thought of Annie came flooding into his spacious galaxy of a mind, sending color to his pale cheeks.

He feels magnificent.

And so later, when they’ve all gone after being reassured of his condition, he lays flat on his bed and texts Reiner, _“I know you were achin to tell me about Annie. Well come on tell me."_

_u sure bro,_ is Reiner’s potentially surprised reply.

_you barely looked at me when i came over earlier_

_“Dun worry about it.”_

_“I was just sick.”_

_“Feeling better now.”_

_o okay_

_well after i didnt get an answer from you i asked marco cuz he works at starbucks too_

_and he said no cuz he’s roomin with Jean soon to split the rent_

_…_

_wait_

_how come annie just cant split rent with you_

_“I’m on a starbucks budget Reiner.”_

_“Does Annie even have a job?”_

_no_

_but shes tryin_

_its hard to bein a canadian n all_

_maybe that flower shop christa works at_

_“Maybe.”_

_damn i need her out of the apartment_

_“Why so soon?”_

_ya know_

_me n bert_

_we rented together_

_we share an apartment for a reason_

Armin’s cheeks rose in temperature at that. Of course. Marco and Jean are going to live together and Reiner and Bertoldt live together. It makes him think what it would seem like to others if he’d accepted the offer to have Annie live with him. His face reddened further.

_still there_

_“Yeah,”_ he replies when he regains his composure. _“I’m not sure where I stand on the whole roommate thing.”_ The moment he sends it, he immediately wishes he hadn’t. How could he even consider it? His grandfather had taught him right, and he knew, even without the years of lessons of etiquette, that people would talk if they rooms together. It’s just so…improper.

_“I mean,”_ he shakily tries to correct, _“You know since it’s against the rules and all.”_

_“I wanna help I really do, Reiner”_

_“but you know how it is.”_

The next reply is delayed and it takes at least three minutes for Reiner to respond.

_yea.._

_I understand dude_

Now Armin feels bad. The two replies were slow. In hindsight, if one were to read Armin’s responses to Reiner with no context, it would seem like he was flaking on him. The blond runs a hand through his hair, and releases a sigh. He’s going to regret this. He is definitely going to regret this.

_“Actually, Reiner.”_

_yea,_ he replies while he taps the next line.

_“I might reconsider.”_

_“Lemme talk to her.”_

_“How does Wednesday sound?”_

_great_

_fuckn awesome_

_thanks armin_

Armin smiles as he imagines Reiner beaming and grinning and thrusting his large fists into the air. But then again he doesn’t know exactly how desperate Reiner is to get his cousin out of his hair.

_“No problem.”_

“Hopefully, I don’t regret this,” he almost texts but ends up saying it aloud to no one in particular. _“I’ve gotta talk a nap now. Bye.”_

_k bye_

He stretches his arms and drops his phone onto the bed beside his hip. Rest now, he thinks. It’s all too much, just get some rest; you deserve it. I do, don’t I? But he wonders if he’s able to sleep now. He truly is tired and he feels like he could sleep through the remainder of autumn and the entirety of winter altogether. He probably could.

He feels cleaner now. It’s as if he was seeking clarity in the week before and he’s found it now.

But he doesn’t know _why_.

He doesn’t know why; but he suspects Annie has something to do with it. Annie, the cousin of one of his best friends. Annie, the girl who comes into the café but doesn’t order coffee. Annie, the only person he’s heard to utter the word, “pissfart.” Annie, the girl he loves to look at.

And then that’s it, he realizes.

It’s always been Annie.

It’s only with this revelation that Armin realizes just what has been wrong with him.

He’s _lovesick_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeh I do my research.
> 
> A few notes so you guys aren't confused. Symptoms for lovesickness include: chest pains, OCD, depression, insomnia, lack of appetite, overinflated self-esteem, lack of concentration, hopelessness/helplessness, upset stomach, dizziness, tearfulness and high blood pressure, among others. I didn't use them all because then it'd be obvious that I'm edging toward the exact "illness"(even more so than I did already)
> 
> Augh, I'm terrible at writing.


	4. The Devil Herself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday is here! Another surprise for Armin!

Wednesday comes before Armin even realizes it or remembers his promise to Reiner. He’d back to work the prior Monday and offers to come back and stay behind after open hours to make up for the time missed. Of course Pixis doesn’t mind when he volunteers to mop the floors and wipe down the counters for the janitor, especially since customers apparently missed his friendly face at the register. That made him feel fuzzy and warm inside.

His shift that day ends faster than he thought it would and when he clocks out Pixis surprises him by tapping his back as he’s at his locker.

“Oh, sorry there, m’boy, didn’t mean to frighten ya,” the old man laughs.

Armin stutters, “A-Ah, oh—n-no, sir, it’s fine.” He takes a long breath, trying to calm his beating heart. “I’m just…jumpy.”

“As I’ve heard.” Pixis grins placidly and watches the younger boy pull his possession out of his locker. “Say, Armin.”

“Yes sir?”

“There’s no need for you to come by later. I’ll take care of it.”

He’s surprised and he’s probably letting it show. “B-But sir! I still have to make up for the days I was out.” What wasn’t a surprise was that Pixis cared about his employees. He is, after all, the most decent, well-mannered, level-headed boss he’d ever worked for.

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Pixis takes out his handy-dandy hip flask, unscrews it and takes a swig. How predictable. “Ahh,” he sighs hoarsely. “Would ya like some? No? I expected as such from a good boy like you.” He puts the flask away. “Anyway, I know how much you love to read on Wednesdays, so I won’t keep ya. I’ll do it; I feel like cleanin’ today anyway."

Armin supposes it’s unnecessary to tell his boss that his reading plans have been cancelled for something more practical for once (which in his mind happened to not be meeting with Reiner and Annie, but watching a movie alone) and draws his lips into a thin line. Then he shrugs, easily conjuring an appreciative smile.

“If you’re sure, sir.”

“I am.” He pats the blonde on his shoulder. “You’re a hardworkin’ boy, Arlert. You _deserved_ that time off.”

Now his smile is happy. He nods. “Thank you, sir.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.” Pixis turns with his hands clasped behind his back. When he begins to walk off, Armin calls to him one last time.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, sir, how come someone like you is working at a Starbucks?” It takes him a moment to reply, and when he does, he turns his head back to the boy, and he smiles a kind smile.

"An old man like me needs _some_ kind of money.”

* * *

 

When Armin returns home, there’s an unsettling feeling in his gut. He sucks in some nonexistent snot and peers around as he unbuttons his cardigan. Something is off. Had he left the stove on? He rushes to the kitchen to see for himself but there was no charred pot or smoke emanating from anything 

Blinking he takes off his black polo, leaving nothing on his chest but his comfortable, white tank top tucked firmly beneath his belt. He tugs it out, eyes flicking here and there suspiciously.

He’s still skeptical, but he eases his way into his bedroom anyway, feeling a sudden need for a good game of Tetris. However, as he has his SP in his grasp and is sliding the Tetris cartridge into the slot, a knock at the door shakes him.

“Who…?” The word slips out in pure curiosity. He isn’t expecting anyone. Ah, it must be Eren and/or Mikasa, probably checking up on him to ensure he doesn’t fall sick again.

Armin pads to the door, game in hand, and opens it. And then he feels like screaming.

His stomach jumps, his heart jolts, and his eyes widen.

Lo and behold before him is the devil herself, donning clean grey sweats and a different knitted cap than before, that had, “Lionheart,” crudely knitted onto it, looking up at him with bored, half-lidded eyes. His mouth is tight, his heart is pounding in his ears, and the fingers of his free hand curl at his side.

When he doesn’t say anything, her eyes grow unamused and she raises a brow. “Ah—uh—“ he stutters, hands shooting up, “You-You’re—“

“I’m Annie,” she says dully, as if fed up with his nervous actions. “But you know that. Right?” It’s almost not a question.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “Reiner’s your—You’re Reiner’s cousin.”

She nods. “Mm.”

He swallows and tries to push his coyness down. “Wh-What—Why are you here?”

“Reiner sent me.”

Oh. Right. He rubs the back of his neck. “R-Right. That. I didn’t really think he’d send you over. I—I sorta thought that I’d go over there and talk to you both.” Oh, how nice it would’ve been to have Reiner in the room with them. Damn it.

She shrugs in reply and averts her eyes to something on her right. (It’s probably Daz on his lawn chair again. The stench of weed _is_ thick in the air.)

Armin exhales and scratches his neck, remembering his manners. But play it cool, he adds dumbly. “Well…” he starts, blinking when she looks back up at him, “come on in.” Once she’s situated in the living room, he asks if she’d like some tea.

“What kind?”

“Uh, Arizona grapeade. But out of the jug, I don’t have the cans.”

She nods eagerly and he goes off, returning a moment later, and hands her a glass. Annie nods gratefully, muttering her thanks, and as she sips he sets himself down at the couch opposite her, puffing a deserved albeit shuddery sigh. He hopes he’s not blushing—oh, who is he kidding; he is—or rather, he hopes she doesn’t notice, or at least, doesn’t mind. Pawing gently at his knees, he keeps his eyes to his lap while he waits. For what? He doesn’t know.

Armin can hear Annie’s throat as she swallows, and her small, soft sighs when she pulls the cup away and he tries hard to ignore the lewd thoughts coming to mind. He gulps, suddenly feeling hot despite the gust of cold air that’d blown in just now.

She's halfway through her glass when she heaves an impatient sigh and looks straight at him, expectantly. It is then that he realizes just how long they’d been silent.

“Oh. Uh—“ He clears his throat. Steel yourself, Arlert. She’s just a girl. “Wh-Why didn’t Reiner come, too?”

The question—the very first thing he says—catches her off guard, it seems. She shudders a bit. “Right. That. He…” Her mouth clamps shut for a moment. It's as though he'd made her relive something terrible. “…had some…some _business_ to take care of. Leave it at that. I’m sure he’ll be here soon. If he’s not, he’s with Bert.”

Armin doesn’t question it, knowing Reiner. “Okay. I’m not sure you know this, but Reiner wants you to move out of apartment…as harsh as it might sound. He was weirdly enthusiastic about you moving in with me, in particular.”

He pauses to take a breath, to calm his wild heart. “Well, I’m not sure how this will work, because as I keep telling Reiner, it’s against the rules to keep a _guest_ in our apartments and the only way for us both to live in one apartment is if I speak with the landlady and we both pay the…rent…” He trails off when she slouches in her seat and picks at her cuff.

When she hears him stop talking, her eyes flick up. “Why’d you stop?"

“ _Oh_.” His hand meets the nape of his neck and he bites his lip awkwardly. “I just—It’s just that it s-sorta looks like I’m boring you.”

Annie shrugs. “You’re not boring me; I’m just bored, eh.” He smiles at her. Her eyes widen and she blushes. “Shit—I mean, fuck—You didn’t hear that.” It’s like she doesn’t want to seem Canadian. Why wouldn’t she?

He stifles a laugh. “Okay,” he voices, rather amused. “Anyway. It would honestly help me if you had a job to help pay the rent. I can barely manage paying it by myself. But you won’t believe the way they mistreat employees here, in America, bosses and customers both. There’s seldom ever a great boss and decent people…Um?” He looks at her for her input.

She’s rubbing her cheek and she shrugs loosely, returning to her original bored attitude. “I dunno. I mean, I barely understand.” Annie bristles a bit, but doesn’t seem angry. “Reiner just keeps doing these kinds of things without telling me. Interrupts me while I’m watching TV, hands me a note and says, ‘Y’know that kid from the party last week. Go to this address and see if he’ll take you.’ Fucking shit.” _Now_ she looks peeved. No surprise. “I didn’t even know that he wanted me out.”

Armin purses his lips. “Mm.” She fidgets then, apparently realizing just how up she’d said and regretting gushing to a stranger. He pulls his back from the couch, joined his hands between his knees and heaved a sigh.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” He shrugs almost in the same way she did. “I mean…” He swallows and breathes shallowly. “We don’t even know much about each other. A-And how can Reiner expect me to do this? It’s like he doesn’t understand _meaning_ of the word ‘antisocial.’”

“Mm,” she agrees quietly, leaning on her hand. “That _does_ sound like him.”

A thick silence falls. Armin allows himself to relax and lean back again. He tells himself to regain his composure—don’t embarrass yourself in front of her. First impressions are everything. Unless she took the night of the party seriously and thinks he’s just a scrawny brat who complains. He sucks in a breath. God, he hopes not. What does she think of him now? Oh, God, oh, _God_.

He hears inhale softly—probably through her nose—and he looks up just in time to see her conjure a tiny smile before wiping it away. The tiny smile is enough to tell him she’s _trying_ not to make him uncomfortable.

“You know,” she sighs, “I’ve had roommates before, and they were complete strangers when we first moved in.” Annie’s gaze wavers, and she ends up averting her eyes. “Believe me when I say I’ve _wanted_ to move out of their apartment and that it’s not at all fun being pushed out so they can, and I quote, ‘fornicate.’” His face reddens. He’s glad she doesn’t see it. “I’ve only been here a week and I’m already annoyed. It could take a while but I _can_ get a job to help pay rent. If that’s cool with you.”

Did she just say yes?

He’s speechless. She refuses to see his shock. She takes this quiet moment to down the rest of her tea. He watches her.

When the last drop is gone, Annie swallows, sighs again and says, “It’s cool if you decline.” Then she holds a fist to her mouth, eyes almost shutting, and lets a muffled belch slip through her nose. “Sore-y. I get it if you’d want someone nicer-looking.”

Armin springs up. “N-No!” She jumps at his outburst. He lowers his voice, speaking slowly, “I-I mean...” The words _don’t make a fool of yourself_ come running through his mind, and he takes heed to them. “It’s fine. I wasn’t looking for a roommate but if you need a place to stay, I’m all yours.” He ignores the blatant heat beneath his skin and smiles cheerily.

A moment passes before she stands too. Her face is as blank as it always is but a flash of gratitude is in her eyes. “Thank you, uh, Aryan Coconut.”

Armin laughs, a bit uneasily. “Thaaat’s not my name.”

“It’s what Reiner wrote on the note,” she says as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a short receipt with his address and “ _Aryan Coconut’s place, go here_ ” scrawled in pink, glittery ink. Armin can’t tell which is funnier: the fact that Annie just addressed him as the joke that’d gotten old fast but is still used, or that Reiner, despite “Armin” being shorter and easier to write, wrote the entire nickname. He’d laugh, but he feels the need to correct her is more urgent.

“It’s Armin. Armin Arlert.” He holds a (slightly shaky and regrettably sweaty) hand out. She takes it, and it’s only now that he realizes that she has an electric blue cast on her left arm, covered mostly by her sleeve.

She shakes his hand. “Annie Leonhardt.”

“Nice to meet you, Annie,” he chirps as he retracts his hand, _so_ glad that the cast prevented her from the moistness of it. He drags it across his pant leg, still beaming.

“So when can I move in?” For some reason, he’s delighted that she’s eager to do so.

“Whenever you want.” Armin puts his hands behind his back. “I still have to go and talk to the landlady tomorrow. Possibly Friday, I’m not sure.”

Annie nods, and nearly ten minutes later, goodbyes are said. He waves as she descends from his floor, and once she’s made it too the second landing, she thanks him for the tea. In turn, he thanks her for coming over, smiling kindly, and she stutters an apology for Reiner not even showing up to the promised meeting. “Fine, it’s fine,” he laughs, grinning. “Just tell him he owes me a sandwich.”

“What does that _mean?”_

“It means what it means, Annie. I’ll see ya.”

“Oh-kay.” She turns on her heel and quickly scrambles down till she’s out of sight.

Armin is content with himself, or rather how he hadn’t freaked out in her presence. He gazes at the orangey-purple sky and at the yellow sun as it slowly, very slowly makes its descent into the horizon, the same way Annie had left. The blond takes a deep breath of contentment, hand on the railing of the metal staircase, the cool, autumn air levitating strands of his hair and once again touching his face so gently it could be his mother.

Maybe he won't regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tetris is awesome and mind-stimulating, you can't tell me otherwise (says the dork who discovered it at a tender age and has been playing it ever since). Whether Annie was a tiny bit OOC, I have no idea. Either way, this is still my first SNK work, so hopefully, I'll get better! The next chapter could take a while; I'm still planning it out and on top of that, I have summer homework to complete.
> 
> Next time: Hanji makes a well-deserved appearance! Annie properly meets the gang.


	5. Perky Landlady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie moves in. Mikasa gets weird vibes. Who's that Pokemon? It's Hanji!

It’s exactly noon when Annie comes.

Eren and Mikasa are over and playing against each other at _Super Smash Bros. Brawl_ when she comes, clad in her freshest hooded coat, jeans and Canadian toque, carrying with her trusty messenger/laptop bag and backpack and in her hand a hockey stick.

They’re sitting on the floor and leaning on the couch while Armin is lying on his back on it reading, placid and fine with Eren’s shouts of how he’s losing to Mikasa under her guise as Lucario or Marth, when the knocking at the door grabs their attention. The distraction gives Mikasa a chance to knock Eren’s Falco off the platform. While the tanned boy screams his defeat, Armin laughs and trots to the door.

Annie nods as a hello and hands him the hockey stick.

“Hey,” he greets, grinning, “I didn’t expect you to be here so early.”

“Yeah, well…” Her brow rise and fall awkwardly. She readjusts her toque. “Reiner and Bert were making… _plans_ for tonight so I figured now’s a good time.” Incredibly uncomfortable with the short, quick topic, Armin forces back a grimace.

“Oh. Well, you’re suffering is over.” He raises the stick in mockery of great joy, then turns, gesturing her to come in. “Although, I haven’t talked to the landlady. Also, my friends are over so it’ll be a little cramped for a bit.”

“Just fine,” she says once she steps in. She sounds content with this, moreover glad that she doesn’t have to share with the taller duo.

“Armin, who’s—“ Upon entering the living room, Eren and Mikasa’s sights are set on Annie. Eren looks surprised and curious, and is squinting at her as if remembering her from that last Friday. Mikasa, on the other hand, looks very displeased with her arrival. Her scowl is vicious and she’s shooting daggers at the shorter blonde. Armin is confused when sees it, but a jolt of shock shoots down his spine and he looks to Annie, who looks equally disgruntled. And suddenly the tension in the room is so thick, not even a chainsaw can cut it.

The moment Eren catches onto it too, he jumps up and claps his hands together. “Ah, welp, that sure was fun!” He smiles, walks to Annie (Armin shivers), and hold his hand out. “Hi there. I’m Eren Jaeger. You’re that cousin of Reiner’s, right?”

Annie hesitates. She looks to Armin and when he nods encouragingly, she shakes his hand. “Yeah. Annie.”

The tension only seems to grow thicker through Mikasa’s end. Armin shoots Eren a pleading glance and he quickly lets go of her hand. “A-Anyway,” Eren laughs, “Armin told me that you’re gonna be his roommate. Fuh-Fuckin’ great. Fantastic, even! Outta everyone in the group he’s the best choice—" 

She seems to get lost in all of his rambling, and the reluctant, confused expression on her face dulls into one of boredom.

Now’s the chance to step in. Armin interrupts Eren’s rant, “Uh! Well, I’d best go down and talk to Miss Gunner. Wanna come?” The question isn’t directed to anyone in particular but Eren volunteers immediately with a desperate raise of the hand; it says _no way I’m staying here with these two_. Annie shrugs carelessly and takes her bags off (Armin points to the couch). “Mikasa?”

The Asian girl shakes her head stubbornly. “I’m staying.”

“Are you sure?” Eren asks.

“Yeah, I’ll just stay and play…whatever.” She looks away from the three and reaches over to her bag to rummage for another game. When Armin an “okay,” Annie whispers that Reiner is bringing more of her things up and it’s probably best for Mikasa to stay behind. He nods and smiles, telling Mikasa just that, before departing.

But before he shuts the door, he hears Mikasa mumble under her breath an insult not said everyday by the taller girl.

_“Bitch.”_

* * *

 

“Ugh, the hell was that about?” grunts Eren as they tread down the stairs. It’s a peculiarly warm day. The sun chooses today to shine its brightest and Armin, for once, finds in a bit annoying. Its light is almost blinding and beating down on him, and his shoulders and head are already heating up. (It makes him wonder why Annie is in a coat). He squints and shields his field of vision with his hand. In his peripheral he sees Annie do the same. He shrugs at Eren’s inquiry, brushing a hand though his bangs.

“Who knows?” He scratches his head. “Personally, I think it was her ‘don’t-touch-Eren-he’s-mine’ attitude from high school.”

Eren wrinkles his nose, and looks like he’s going to comment about that but doesn’t, only rolls his sleeves up as they streak across the parking lot. It isn’t as if Armin was going to listen to it anyway, as he’s fussing far too much with his hair.

He asks nervously, “Uh, Annie, you wouldn’t happen to have a hair tie, would you?”

“Just so happens I do,” she mumbles, pulling one from her wrist.

“Thank you.” He plucks it from her and ties his long hair back into a high ponytail. He hears her hum quietly in response.

From across the lot, they can see the central core of the complex. The main office, petite compared to the rest of the establishment, is sandwiched between two taller structures, painted to match them, a tall, tree poised behind it and shading over it. To Armin, it looks less like an office and more like a shack that one would keep in their backyard for storing lawn supplies. As they near it they notice that the door is wide open.

Odd, Armin thinks. Miss Gunner always keeps it shut. The woman loves her privacy—and by that, he means she hates when others bother her. As they draw in closer and closer, the melodious harmony of classical music begins to reach their ears. Now it’s _really_ strange; Miss Gunner despises music of any kind.

Now they’re standing in the doorway and Armin takes in the sight before him.

A figure is slumped in a swivel chair, with their feet propped up on the desk, a hand up and swaying in the air to the tempo of the symphony. If one would squint and look into the dimly lit room, they’d be able to see the figure’s features—that that figure is a woman of lanky build. She appears to have dark hair and a prominent nose that reminds him of the female beside him and grinning mouth that moved giddily as it works to chew something. The wire, oval-shaped glasses perched on said nose stands out above all else, its glare like the sun in the sky.

Armin is unable to say a thing, for some reason; it’s a good thing Eren notices his muteness. He knocks his knuckles against the door frame and clears his throat. “’Scuse me?”

The woman jumps, nearly falling out of her chair and swallows her mouthful with a long, nerving gulp. “Uhh?” Her glasses slip down her nose but she pushes them back up.

“Oh, hello!” she chirps, perking up from her seat. “How can I help you?”

Armin finds his voice then and says, “Wh-Where’s Miss Gunner?”

Her mood drops only a little and her smile falls but her refreshing atmosphere is still in the air. “Oh, the old lady? She, uh—She passed a few days ago.” She doesn’t seem to feel any type of remorse or graveness for her, and Armin is almost shocked to notice. Almost.

However, he _is_ shocked to hear of Miss Gunner’s demise. “I… _Wow_.” He imagines he’s the only one who feels sad for her. She was _very_ rude to everyone in the building. Expect for him. “I just saw her last week.”

“Shocking, I know,” she says, picking at her teeth with a pinky. “I would feel worse about if I’d known her better, or at least if she hadn’t bagged on my sexuality and fashion choices like most old folks do.” She sits up instantly, stomping her feet on the floor and stands and makes her way toward the threesome. She grins widely. With her now up close and personal, she’s got an unpleasant scent to her, much to Armin’s slight dismay, and she’s very tall, just about an inch above Eren, but she’s practically towering over short, little Annie, who doesn’t seem pleased with that.

“I’m her replacement. Or rather, I was just transferred from Yakima. Name’s Hanji Zoë! You can call me either. Part-time landlady, full-time scientist!” She looks awfully proud of it, too; her eyes are sparkling. “I can tell you’re a little intimidated by my looks”—Annie scoffs, “Oh, _boy_.”—“but never fear; I don’t bite!” Armin is taken aback by her outgoing attitude and he suspects she can tell because she settles herself down. “Now how can I help you lovely children?”

Suddenly Armin remembers the task at hand. “Oh! Uh, well. I, uh, would like to add a roommate to my lease.”

Hanji brightens. “Oh? Well, I can sure help you with that!” When she turns, he hears Annie groan softly to herself and mouth—it’s too quiet to be a whisper—“Good _God_ , kill me now,” and he’s not sure why but he smiles. Hanji ushers them further into the office as she pulls a couple of chairs from a back room.

Eren stiffens suddenly. “Ah, Armin, I’m hungry so Im’ma head over to Arby’s. I’llbringyoubacksomethingloveyoubye!” With that, he dashes off before Armin can stop him. Once again, hunger has consumed his hardheaded friend. Armin sighs and gives a loose wave to the empty doorway.

“He seems nice,” Hanji voices. She’s sitting at a filing cabinet in her swivel chair. “Now, whose apartment are talking about and what’s your name?”

“Armin Arlert. Apartment 712.”

When Hanji opens the cabinet she instantly pulls out a file. “Oh, the first one. Got a star on it, too. _Someone_ must’ve been a favorite.” Annie sighs and slouches in her chair. “Anyway, what’s your future roommate’s name?” Armin remains silent.

“Annie,” the girl beside him says curtly. “Leonhardt." 

“Alright-y.” Hanji clears her throat and closes the pizza box—she was eating pizza earlier—beside her as a silent message that she’s not going to share. “So here’s how this’ll go: I’ll ask some government-mandated questions to both of you, mostly to Annie here, I’ll ask for identification, you two have to sign some stuff and believe me, I wish this was an easier process; this’ll take a while.”

* * *

 

“She’s too perky,” Annie drones as they wait outside Eren’s apartment for him to return from his long trip to Arby’s. The sun, still bright and shining in the otherwise cloudy sky, has calmed to a point where Armin could stay outside all day. It’s the perfect amount of sunlight. They’re leaning against the door, Armin with his hands in pockets and Annie, after asking for his okay, with a cigarette perched between her pink lips and in one hand her phone. Armin tries very hard not to watch her puff rings of smoke into the air.

“She wasn’t too bad,” he replies, eyes on a couple of pigeons pecking at a discarded bagel a few feet away. “She _did_ smell a little—“

“A lot.”

“—and was a bit too chipper for my comfort-zone—“

“You mean invading your personal space.”

“—and also I don’t think it’s possible to be a part-time landlady—“

“ _Irresponsible_.”

Armin laughs, “Okay, okay! I see your point. She’s odd. But she’s alright.”

“I guess.” Annie takes a long drag, then drops the cigarette and grinds it into the ground with her boot as she spews the smoke through her teeth. (Armin thinks she looks like an angry deity when she does this.) “You wanna just—?“ she starts, but her phone vibrates in her hand and all attention is on the device now. Then she sighs, “Shit.”

“What?”

Annie doesn’t say a word. Instead she shows him the phone. On it is a conversation with Reiner (or rather, who he assumes is Reiner because the name at the top is _boobmaster_ ). Oh, _boy_. His eyes drop down to the most recent texts.

_come over 2nite babe_

_prepare urself to be introduced_

_properly_

When he looks up at Annie, he gives him an uninterested look and raises a brow. Blushing, his eyes return to the phone.

_bring the coconut_

That’s me, he thinks flatly. He wishes the joke would just stay in the past. He grunts and straightens his back, yanking his hands from his pants. “Okay. No use waiting for Eren. He’s probably already there.” She looks as if she was expecting more of him. Possibly because he felt the same way. She slips her phone back into her pocket and sighs.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

To Armin’s surprise it turns out that Annie is already close-knit with Ymir, Christa, and Bertholdt. Reiner explains with a warm smile that when they were Christa and Ymir, being the best friends that they were (and are), would take vacations to Canada together every summer, with Christa’s parents. It was more of business trips, Christa says she’d found, and that her parents would’ve gotten in trouble for leaving their only daughter home alone.

They owned a vacation home near the recreational center where Annie took kick-boxing lessons and Christa would spot her on a few occasions when she was done and waited for her father to pick her up. It’s a fond memory, it would seem, as Annie doesn’t scowl or roll her eyes and she looks very comfortable when Reiner explains.

Bertoldt, already being the meek, bully victim of the neighborhood, befriended Annie at a tender age, and probably wouldn’t have met Ymir or Christa if it hadn’t been for her. They don’t give any information other than that, and the way Bertoldt blushes in embarrassment and Annie sighs irritably and turns back to Ymir almost makes Armin want to ask.

Connie and Sasha are, to put it simply, quite intrigued by Annie. They speak a mile a minute, asking how’s Canada and you use the metric system, right, and you know, my nana’s nana was Canadian and is it true you guys have _bags_ of milk instead of cartons and so on, and so on. The gabbing doesn’t seem to faze Annie at all and she tucks her little hands into her pockets, staring past them and Armin as if to say, “Really?”

Eren, shockingly, is no where to be seen and neither is Mikasa. Armin’s mood drops a bit when he realizes the other two parts of their three-part package are absent. But Annie had already seen them, so he supposes it’s fine that they’re not there.

Marco and Jean can’t make it, as they’d already planned on going to the movies. No one questions it, far too caught up in the alien Annie—and because they all know that “going to the movies” means something else. Something that is anything but.

* * *

 

The night comes before anyone knows it and the disperse all at once, going their separate ways, each of them paired off with someone else, which Armin takes notice of and is glad no one goes home alone.

When Armin and Annie return to their— _their_ , Armin thinks, imagining majestic fanfare—apartment later that night, she groans and plops down on the couch, instead of venturing all the way to the room she hadn’t even seen yet, and Armin smiles as he goes to cook something up for them both, since Eren never came with Arby’s. He announces this, and she hums as a quiet reply.

He reaches for his apron and searches for something that has a serving count of more than one. Macaroni and cheese, Progresso, croissant sandwiches, pancakes. Nothing he has is exactly suitable for dinner.

“Hey, Annie? What would you _want_ to eat?” he asks, turning his head toward the living room.

“Hm,” she mumbles from afar. He hears her shift and sigh and he sees her head pop out of hiding as she rests her chin on the arm of the couch. “Uh.” Armin picks up the box of Mac-and-cheese from the counter and shakes it mildly. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

He smiles and she turns her head to lay her cheek on the arm. They’re both silent for a moment.

When he pours the pasta noisily into the boiling pot, she shifts again and says, “So. _Jaeger_ , huh?”

A tingling shock of despair crawls through his skin. Oh, _please_ don’t be interested in him. He swallows, doesn’t turn this time. “Uh, yeah. Cool guy, right?”

“Jaeger,” she says again, a bit lazier, “Like from Pacific Rim?”

A huge wave of relief washes over him and he presses a hand to his lean chest. Thank God. He sobers up. “Heh, yeah. Funny thing, though. He _loves_ that movie.” He lifts his heels from the floor once then puts himself back down, stirring the softening pasta. “You should see him. It gets him _so_ pumped.” She gives a faint chuckle, the way people do to tell that they’re not bored with the subject. “He’s an insane fan. It’s literally his dream to meet Guillermo del Toro.”

She gives another huff of laughter then sighs through her nose placidly.

Armin swallows, tries to focus on the steam rising into his face. Then he attempts conversation again. “Do you remember everyone’s names? I know that Connie, Sasha and Eren were the only ones you met properly, but…”

“Mm.” Annie, seeming to notice that he wouldn’t let her fall asleep, pulls herself up and makes her way to the kitchen. He jumps when she leans against the counter next to the stove and holds a hand up to count off.  “There’s Jaeger, potato girl Sasha and baldy Connie. Then that one from earlier, I can’t remember her name. Rich boy Jean, and his boyfriend Marco, who I know I’ve seen before. Then Bert, Ymir and Christa and the other one.”

“You mean Reiner?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

He laughs, and continues to stir. They wait until he’s finished cooking their dinner and they sit at his tiny dining table in his one-light kitchen to eat. All the while, they talk; about what, Armin doesn’t remember when they finally part ways for the night, he to his room and Annie to hers. He thinks it was music when he, clad only in his underwear, collapses face first into the alluring comfy-ness of his bed. Maybe movies. He doesn’t know. His mind is heavy with the sudden need for sleep. When his head lolls to the side, it feels like there’s an entire cinderblock tied to it.

His last thought before he drifts off is uncertain to him but it’s most likely Eren, but that thought dissipates into the fog of his sleepy head.

And then he’s out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School sucks. Apologies if the writing seems cruddy or if their are grammatical mistakes; I have homework tonight.
> 
> Next time: Armin dreams. Heichou appears! Annie speaks the language of baguettes! Eren is...?


	6. Heichou Has a Girlfriend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning with Armin and Annie. Heichou has a what. Annie speaks French. Eren is...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. School's a bitch and PSAT is this week also.

He dreams of his mum, and her gentle smile, coaxing him to let go of the railing of the public swimming pool.

He dreams of his dad, and his strong hands, gingerly lifting him up and onto his broad shoulders

He dreams of the moments—all of the moments—they’d spent, where they’d laughed and grinned and joked and tickled and enjoyed each other. He remembers vividly. It’s so bright, and their smiles gleam. He remembers his grandfather barbecuing while watching them, hips swaying to _Hooked On A Feeling_ on the radio as he does. The laughter had filled his ears wonderfully, so wonderfully that he’d laughed too, not even knowing _why_.

He remembers his mother’s arms wrapping around him on a stormy night and his father cocooning them both in a warm hug, humming a lullaby that’d been long forgotten. His father, his hero, would swoop in when he fell, bandage his knee and kiss it and say it would be okay. And it would be. His mother would dance in the living room to her favorite 80’s CDs and he’d waddle in on clumsy feet to join her. She’d take the dance and he’d stand on her feet as she led him.

He remembers it all.  He ruminates dreamily, dwelling on every precious moment.

But the euphoria of the dream is broken. He remembers everything after that now: the sudden call to the hospital, the rush for raincoats, Mum handing her sleepy baby over to Granddad and kissing his head, the loving murmur that they’d be back before he wakes up in the morning, their reassuring _smiles_ as they _leave_. They leave their baby boy with his granddad on a night where the rains beats down on them mercilessly.

He screams the loudest he would ever scream in his life when he’s told that he wouldn’t see them again, his round face wet with tears. He collapses and cries at the funeral as they’re lowering below the surface and begs them to come back 

His grandfather pulls him back to his feet and he struggles and struggles, as he’s slowly, very slowly pulled back into reality.

 

 

* * *

 

Armin awakes with his head lying on a wet pillow, suddenly and with a start. He swallows and exhales shakily, blinking furiously to keep the tears in. He turns over onto his back and takes another breath as he rubs his eyes and face, freeing himself of both the moisture and the dull blockage of sleep. He sniffles. Stop now, he cries to himself, before you become depressed. He shakes his head, thin bunches of his hair brushing gently against his cheeks.

He sits up, letting his quilts slide off his bare chest, allowing a deep frown to pull at his mouth. He sucks in through his nose again and wipes whatever remainder of snot was left.

It’d been quite some time since he’d dreamt about them, so vividly. The last time he had, he recalls, he was just a freshman in high school, well into the second semester, and the piling of work was getting to him, stressing him out. He’d cried over the large amount of work and fallen asleep and dreamt of his parents again. When he woke the next morning, he couldn’t stop crying; his granddad called him in sick and he’d taken a mental health day.

The thought of them is like a rainy day that suddenly, so suddenly become too heavy and serious to run and splash around in; although at first delightful and full of joy, grows sorrowful and melancholy, so much so that the tears comes naturally, by no surprise to him at all.

Armin decides there’s no time to wallow. He’d had enough of wallowing when he was five. He shoves the blankets away and emerges from his nest, stretching his lanky limbs and rising up on his toes as he does. He yawns when he settles himself back down.

He pads quickly across the cold floor out to the bathroom, all the while scratching at his stomach.

Annie isn’t awake yet, thank God, when he exits the W.C. all fresh and spiffy. He dresses quickly in his jogging sweats and goes to the kitchen. It’s about 0642 and the sky, through his tiny rectangular window, is a beautiful pink-blue gradation.

He plucks his apron from the rack on the wall and starts on some pancake batter.

By the time he has the stove fired up and sizzling with the stuff, he hears the slow, unsteady _plap-plap-plap_ of bare feet against tile as his roommate, in her sweatpants and tee, wobbles into the kitchen holding her head. “Rein. The fuck,” she mutters, eyes squinting in the bright light and head drooping to the side every few seconds. Armin smiles fondly, finding the sight rather adorable. “Too _loud_ ,” she finally growls out when her eyes manage to open enough for a glance at him.

“Sorry I woke you.” She’s half-asleep, he knows, but he wonders how she’s managing to stay upright. She _is_ swaying. “You should go back to bed. I’ll quiet down, I promise.” Annie’s nose wrinkles and she huffs through it, as if saying, _See to it that you do!,_ before staggering back into her room and loosely shutting the door. Armin turns the heat down a notch.

Not a morning person, he notes. Important. This will be on the test.

The next time Annie emerges from her hole is when the pancakes are ready and he’s setting the table with his finest syrups (only a bottle). When he asks if she’s awake now she first apologizes for mistaking him for Reiner and says yes and that the smell of pancakes drew her from her bed. Because she’s Canadian, she adds drowsily, as her own little joke. “You’re a saint, Armin,” she praises quietly, “Reiner doesn’t make me pancakes.”

“What _does_ he make you?”

“Angry that we’re related.”

They sit down together and eat and Armin turns on the morning news. Annie is silent while he watches for the weather, too busy shoveling two or three syrup-soaked pieces at a time into her mouth. Armin likes the atmosphere they’re holding between them. It’s a comfortable and friendly sort of air, not at all awkward in any way. At least, she’s not uneasy near him; in fact he’s surprised at how cool he’s being around her this morning.

When the plates are cleaned and the flapjacks are scarfed down, Annie collapses on the couch, face hidden in a throw pillow, and he’s sure she’s out like a light again, wonders briefly if the assumption would be reasonable, then shrugs it off and goes to dress in today’s attire.

She’s sitting up with her knees snug to her chest, with her cheek resting atop them, hands folded and tucked against her stomach, when he’s fresh in jeans and a flannel button-up. Dozing, just dozing. Armin’s chest carries a light feeling when he sees her there, curled up and snoring softly—he can hear the gentle snores—and doesn’t wish to wake her, but has to. Gently, very gently, he nudges her shoulder. Amazingly her eyes flick open and she looks straight at him. Light sleeper, he scrawls onto an imaginary notepad in his head.

Her brows furrow. “Mm.”

Armin swallows at her snarl. “Um—well—I-I’m—I have morning classes so I’ll be back around 1130. A-Are you gonna be okay by yourself?”

“Mm.” Her tone is softer now but still firm.

A smile tries to tug at his lips. “Didn’t you register at the community college?”

“Mmmm…” By now her eyes are drooping shut again. He exhales once her head falls a little ad she’s out again. He straightens up.

“Okay, don’t get too crazy while I’m gone,” he chuckles quietly. He turns on his heels to finally go and put some shoes on, but he stops before he can make the first step. Then he turns back, to look at Annie’s wild shock of bedhead. He wonders…

Before he even realizes it his hand is reaching out, fingers twitching nervously, and he carefully strokes his palm to the poof of gold.

It’s soft.

Now he yanks his hand back quicker than lightning and skitters off, his flushed palm tingling. 

* * *

 

He’s unable to focus at all in class, like the last time he’d thought of his parents the prior morning. Honest to say he’s surprised; for once it’s not Annie on his mind (meaning that his lack of concentration _isn’t_ because of lovesickness). He stares out the huge, shining window, tapping his pen against his textbook, his knee bouncing as he thinks of everything but what’s being drawled out to the rest of the class. It’s nothing he hasn’t read a thousand times last month in the textbook. He’s awfully sure he won’t need to learn it again.

His absentmindedness earns him a whack from Professor Levi, or _Heichou_ , as the everyone—and he means _everyone_ , students, teachers, the janitor—tends to call him, for the sole reason of Levi not wanting such low life-forms to dirty his name by mispronouncing it throughout the year. Armin blinks rapidly.

“Get your head out of the fucking clouds, Arlert,” he hisses in his venomous voice as he glares that hard squinty-eyed glare. “Disgraceful.” Armin—and everyone else, he might add—knows that he doesn't mean that. If it was one thing anyone should know about Heichou, it’s that when he says one thing, he means another. In this case, he’s saying, _“You’re my number one student, don’t end up like the rest of these fuck-ups.”_ That’s what he loves about Levi; he cares. In his own way. If he doesn’t care, he would do what any other teacher and kept teaching the student who are paying attention.

“Sorry, Heichou,” Armin mutters, trying to smile, “I’ll pay attention.”

“You fuckin’ better.” He turns and unrolls his spiral and continues to read the notes written for the lecture.

Armin exhales, letting his shoulders fall lazily. If only he could live up that promise. His sight meanders to his right where farther down the bench Eren is seated. However, unsurprisingly, Eren is paying less attention to Levi’s lecture than he is, as he stares in gleaming admiration for the man. Ah, yes, the telltale-Jaeger-mature-man-crush. Armin hopes for the best that Eren understands that Levi is far more grown than him, and possibly asexual. That’s only a guess; he would never flat out ask it or voice the guess.

He remembers with great displeasure the night Eren had spent the night in his apartment a few months back and confessed his infatuation with their Human Anatomy and Physiology professor. The unsettling feeling—the one he’d felt that night while assuring Eren that the crush wasn’t odd at all—swirls round the pit of his gut once again. Ugh.

He mulls through the rest of the lecture and is glad when Heichou finally flips his notebook shut.

“Alright. Thank God that’s over with.” He slaps it down onto his desk with a loud _slap_. “Before you go, I have an announcement. So sit the fuck back down, Springer.” Connie, who is currently in the position to run out the door, groans and slides back into his seat. “Alright,” Heichou repeats, leaning back against his desk, “Weekend classes are cancelled and so are classes on Monday. I _won’t_ be here, so don’t bother showin’ up.”

An older student—a woman probably in her forties—asks simply out of curiosity, “Why?”

Levi doesn’t seem irritated at the question; a brief raise of the brows implies he’s okay with answering the question. “My girlfriend and I are moving in together. We have to settle in, clean shit up, all that.”

Armin's blood runs cold.

Connie shoots up in his seat. “You have a _girlfriend?!_ ”

The older student claps cheerily. “Congrats, Heichou!”

“Congrats, nothing. We’ve been dating for five years.” Levi crosses his arms.

“Why didn’t you say anything about her, then, if you’ve been dating for five years?”

“I don’t need to tell you shit-stains my personal life. And she just transferred because of her job.”

The class goes on chattering about how they hadn’t seen this coming. Armin doesn’t want to turn his head to Eren but he does anyway and is met Eren’s dolorous stare, as if asking him what to do. Armin doesn't shrug, or smile in reassurance, but only gives a worried stare. He knows that Eren is hurt. But deep down, he’s glad that Eren was rejected this way, and not in the much more hurtful way of confronting Levi face to face. 

And then he disgusted that he's glad.

 

* * *

 

Annie has Bertoldt over when Armin returns. They’re sitting in the living room and look at him when he enters. Bertoldt smiles and says hello. Annie doesn’t say anything. “Ah,” he says, smiling as hospitably as he can, “Don’t mind me.” He kicks his shoes off and shuffles into the kitchen to make some soup. When he asks if they want some they say they’re fine.

They continue to talk while he puts his brunch on.

He’s reminded that he hadn’t shown Annie where certain things were, because the pure inevitability of the late hours had caught them both in its nasty claws. He imagines she’d had to find things like snacks and water and cups and the _bathroom_ all on her own, and he felt stupid. He makes a note to help her out later on, after he gets back from work and if—and only if—his friends didn’t arrange another get-together. He also makes a note to buy her her own pair of slippers.

Mmm. Armin is pulled from his thoughts abruptly and wonders what they’re talking about. They’re speaking in French—and he happens to find it interesting how he can barely recognize their voices. He’d taken a lick a French in high school but the waves of everything that’d happened since then had washed over the language.

But he has to say, Annie’s voice sounds heavenly when she speaks French. It’s somewhat smoother—and dare he fucking say, far sultrier—than when she speaks English. He shudders.

Bertoldt utters long, drawn-out, stuttery sentences that require frequent pauses for recalibration. His tone jumps like it’s hopping on one leg. Annie waits patiently for him to finish, then she talks in faster paced more fluent sentences, like a natural Frenchman would.  There’re a few laughs and chuckles. Armin feels the need to worry.

“C’est ça, c’est ça,” he hears Annie say. He peers out of the kitchen to see her wringing a hand around her casted arm (oh, that’s right, she has that). She twists and twists her hand against her thickly-guarded wrist, like she’s trying to twist her actual wrist. Perhaps it’s out of habit.

Bertoldt says something else, something apparently unbelievable, laughing as he does. Annie snorts—out of laughter—and says, “That’s crazy, you’re crazy, Bert,” in English.

He _wonders_ what they’re talking about. It’s not jealousy, he’s definitely not jealous. He’s curious at best. As curious as a child ruffling through a closet for their Christmas present. Okay. Probably not the best analogy.

Their conversation trails on for another ten minutes before Bertoldt pats his knees with his large hands and announces that he has to get to work. He lifts his arm as he and Annie stand, and he catches her in a hug that wraps around Annie’s small figure and curls her against Bert’s wide chest. Armin, needless to say, is surprised to see that she lets him and even leans her head lazily onto him. They’re closer than he’d thought.

When Bertoldt is gone, Armin is washing his dish and pan and Annie slowly walks into the kitchen. “Bert talks a lot. Sorry aboot that.” There're the tiniest of playful sparks in her eyes that tell him she’s in a good mood. Or a better mood than this morning. “Also, I hope it was fine to invite him.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” He smiles as he pats his hands dry on his thighs, watching her hop onto the counter beside the sink. “It was just Bertoldt so it’s fine.”

“Mm.” There are, apparently, a lot of _mm’s_ with Annie. He won’t complain; it’s cute. She’s cute. “So,” she continues in that dull tone of hers, a tinge of discomfort buried beneath, “I know there’s still a fucking ten minutes before noon but how’s it?”

Armin starts to wash the dishes from earlier, which he’d left in the sink when he’d found that he was running low on time. “Oh, you know. Some days are…different from others.” He doesn’t give her the chance to ask how. “Couldn’t focus in class. Connie stole my last black pen. I found out that my professor, who is probably well into his thirties—I wouldn’t know, he never tells anyone—and has implied that he’s forever off limits, has a girlfriend he’s moving in with over the weekend.” He pauses, and then turns his head to Annie. “Oh, and I like when you speak French.” He smiles again when she looks surprised, fair skin flushing a bit.

“Thanks…?”

“You’re welcome. How was _your_ early two hours of the day?”

“Slept for another hour and a half. Then Bert came and woke me up to check on me.”

“I thought you said you invited him.”

“I lied.”

“Oh-ho-ho.” Armin waves a soapy finger at her. She shrugs, a smile ghosting her lips. “Anyway, I have work later on. Sorry to leave you by yourself again.”

“Nah,” she says, “I might go out.”

 “Uh? Where?”  He swallows. God, please don’t be a date.

Annie hums lowly, moves her hand to her mouth and rubs her thumb across her bottom lip. He watches her do this and he feels as if his body is a sauna; for a moment he’s dizzy. He quickly looks away and exhales silently, but heavily into his sleeve. “Some café. I never look at the name but it has fast internet, so,” she pauses to shrug, “whatever.”

Armin swallows up his timidity to reply. “Th-The only cafés in this part of town are either for old folks or Starbucks.”

She blinks. “Starbucks, yeah. That’s probably it. I didn’t really go to many cafés back in Al—“

In one movement he whips his head around again and he blurts out, “That’s where I work!” She looks half-surprised. He isn’t sure what the other half is. It’s probably her secondary response which it to think about it. Annie _had_ always had her back to him _and_ kept her eyes glued to the screen of her laptop. She wouldn’t know it was him at the counter. She doesn’t order, doesn’t look.

“Is that right?” Her brows are raised in high curiosity. “I guess I missed you.”

 _Oh, big time_ , he wants to say, but it comes out as a chuckling, “Guess so.”

He purposely neglects to tell her that he’d seen her there in her booth, in her little hoodie blogger party—seen her before the movie night at Reiner’s and wished his hardest they’d meet. 

* * *

 

It’s horribly slow today. Empty, nearly every table and booth. Other than Annie in her usual spot, there’s a young married couple, probably well into their thirties, speaking in soft murmurs to each other so no one else can hear; a high school student in a scarf and thick-lens glasses; a strongly-built usual who always order a mocha. And Mikasa, who is sitting on complete opposite side of the café from Annie, for a reason she will not say. (He’s almost sure that it’s to keep an eye on Annie.)

Annie doesn’t seem to care—in fact, it doesn’t even look like she knows that Mikasa is shooting her daggers of death at her every time pulls away from sipping her coffee. Armin decides that it’s right to worry.

He and Marco are bored out of their minds while Jean and Thomas have their hands full at the drive-thru.

It’s quiet; needless to say, it’s a wonderful kind of quiet. Armin happens to fancy it over the stentorian chorus of teenage girls and businessmen on break, chatting about how awful and stressful their days had been. Nearly a million times before in the five months he’d been working at Starbucks, the high-pitched squeals of how adorable he looks in his uniform, or the complaints from middle-aged woman who’d come to him— _him_ , the one who isn’t a barista most days, simply a cashier—and complained about how their names had been misspelled had come close to driving him to insanity. He thanks the stars that Marco steps in to calm things down.

 _Crunch_.

Annie munches plainly on a sample of a Rice Crispie bar that he’d given her to eat while she sits alone in her booth. The crunch of sweet treat is loudest sound in the wide café.

At least now—before Connie, Sasha, Ymir and Christa come bursting through the doors, disrupting the peace. The customers—including Annie, and to a greater extent Armin himself—jump as their attention is yanked to the four young adults.

“Yo! Armin!” Connie shouts at him across the room. “How’s business? Looks empty!” Armin hears Annie huff and take another bite from her Rice Crispie bar, slouching in her seat. Marco pokes his head around the corner. Jean grumbles.

“You just described it, Connie. Empty,” he says as they approach the counter. Their spotlights are now mere thoughts of mild irritation in the backs of the customer’s minds. “And quiet, I might add. You all just shattered the silence.”

“Aw,” Sasha coos, reaching over to pinch his cheek, “Sorry, coconut.”

He rolls his eyes.

Ymir spots Annie in her corner and goes to slide into the opposite seat of her booth, much to the smaller girl’s tacit dismay. “Yo, what up? Can I have some ‘o that?” He’s sure that Annie denies the request and their conversation devolves into something completely unrelated soon after, but he can’t tell as the other three block his sight of them.

Armin sighs. “If you guys aren’t going to order anything, at least sit down somewhere so that Pixis doesn’t think I invited you here to hang out.”

“Ah,” Christa chirps, “I came for coffee, they just tagged along.” She smiles and so does Armin. “Can I get my usual, please?”

“Marco?” He cranes his neck toward his freckled co-worker. Marco, in turn, grins and says, “You got it!” And he twirls around to prepare it.

“So, Ar,” Sasha starts once each of them is settled in a seat, “You know what’s up with Eren?”

“Yeah,” Connie pipes, “Like earlier when Heichou dismissed class he was all sad and shit.” A shock of surprise tingles Armin’s insides. He hadn’t realized just how much Eren concealed his crush on Levi. He’d only ever talked about it with him, as far as he knew.

Mikasa finally—hesitantly, as if she’d been debating whether or not to the entire time—rises from her table and comes to them. “ _What’s_ wrong with Eren?”

Had he told Mikasa, he wonders. Unlikely, he decides soon after; there is no one in the world who harbors more animosity for Levi more than she, even if he _is_ her godfather.

He swallows then. What to do, what to do? Mikasa’s far too close to him, Connie and Sasha are the biggest blabbermouths he knows and Ymir—is _Ymir_. And oh, _God_ , what would Eren think of him if he revealed his secret, that secret that he’d shared with him and only him. Do _not_ , Armin fucking warns himself, tell them.

Armin shrugs, shaking his head. “No idea.” His hands are shaking. Mikasa squints at him, only for a moment but turns to Sasha who fills her in on the news. In his peripheral vision, he sees Annie and Ymir turn and look at them. Marco comes back with Christa’s coffee and she springs up to take it, chiming her thanks.

He’s not surprised that Eren is dropped from the conversation for the rest of the time that the group hangs out at the café.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Annie surprises Armin, but not in a good way.


	7. I Suppose I Can't Complain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin's friends get high. That's probably it. Not an insignificant chapter but boring at best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: This chapter contains drug use. Not abuse. If, for whatever reason, you don't wish to read such content or are triggered by such content, SKIP THE THIRD SECTION. You're also free to skim through. Nothing truly important happens except that Annie is there and Armin loses it a bit because he's worried sick.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter regardless.

For another week, much to his extreme displeasure, the most vivid images of his parents drift through his mind in his sleep. Some days he calls it a plague, other days a grim reminder and he hates that he would consider these dreams as such. If only it wasn’t true.

Armin doesn’t confide in anyone of this, not even Eren or Mikasa (which, in their eyes, could be seen as betrayal, since sharing everything was what they do), and unlike other things he’d worried about in the past, he didn’t feel the need to vent it somewhere, not even paper. It was rampant in his younger years—early teens, mostly in junior high, when open house nights were frequent—and he’d learned to let it be and they’d leave his mind, slowly and gradually.

Though he doesn’t wish to tell, this week it’s hard not to. He’s restless in his sleep. He whimpers pathetically. He cries. Some nights he simply jolts awake and weeps into his pillow. And he knows that Annie can hear him, because his walls are paper thin and so one morning as she chews her slivers of bacon, she mumbles that she’d heard it. He shivers, nearly breaks into a cold sweat, and his face turns red. He doesn’t turn to look at her.

“I-I—“ He coughs. “I had my TV on. Doctor Who is…dramatic. Angst-y, don’tcha know?”

She’s quiet for a while but hums all the same. He’d puff a breath of relief but doesn’t, as his breath is caught up in his throat.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s now two weeks since Annie had moved in. She doesn’t speak much to him more than usual which is thank him for the food he buys and cooks for lunch and dinner, ask how school was or where something is or if she can have another Rice-Crispie square. She’s very quiet, resigned, tranquil, he had noted multiple times, especially when she’s just lounging around the apartment in his blankets—or, _their_ blankets, oh goodness. She’s much like a cat. A lazy cat. One that is currently seeking a job that requires no records.

One day Reiner takes her to the hospital where her wrist is freed from its firm prison. When she returns home, he feels no need to ask if she’s glad it’s off; the glimmer in her icy blue says that she’s elated. Mikasa had been the only one he knows who speaks so powerfully through her eyes.

Minus the occasional job hunts he and Annie venture on, the days go on bit by bit in the same routine. Wake up, cook breakie, wake Annie up—she stays up late at night now reading, or something, he doesn’t know—eat the food, get dressed, off to school, then return to find her lounging or sleeping. She’d already made herself at home, which he’s glad for. As far as her eyes will tell, she loves it here, with all his books and mac-n-cheese and tea.

So Armin he can’t help but find it odd when Annie isn’t in the apartment when he returns from staying late with Connie to help Levi with heavy-lifting—not the wisest choice, by the way. He’s surprised, and a little worried, when he isn’t greeted with the sight of his roommate sprawled on the couch. He looks around, call for her, but doesn’t receive an answer.

He sets his bag down and loosens his tie. He peers into her room. No Annie. Into his room. No Annie. Bathroom. Still no.

After five minutes of checking and rechecking, panic is now a snake slithering down his back and Armin is pacing back and forth in the middle of his living room. Where did she go, where did she go? If she were to go somewhere, she would’ve texted him; she’d done this every single time before. Where is she? Where _is_ she? No, no, no, what would Reiner say if he found out—

Wait. _Reiner_.

That’s it; she must be with Reiner.

Armin practically kicks the door open and darts down the steps after the weakest attempt possible to close it again.

 

* * *

 

He’s standing before the door, his hyperventilating calming to soft pants, when he notices the air.

The translucent air emanating from the front window of Reiner and Bertoldt’s apartment is hard not to notice. Initially he thinks it’s a fire but he shakes the thought away since the alarms aren’t blaring the shit out of his ears. He sucks in a breath. Reiner’s getting high. Again. He half hopes Annie isn’t in there with him. Hopes that she doesn’t do this sort of thing too. The other half simply wishes to see her.

Refusing to peek in through the window and knowing that the door unlocked for whatever cockamamie reason Reiner had, he wraps a hand around the knob, but waits a solid minute before entering.

Fate has a funny way of fucking with me, he thinks as he takes in the sight before him.

There’s the usual circle of cohorts in the hazy living room, a person seated either on a chair, couch, or the floor, passing the shrinking blunt round the formation. Usually it’s a circle of college freshman, or seniors in high school Reiner would befriend for the sole purpose of getting high with, but this time—oh, this time—he could clap for big lug for shocking him further. All the participants in this circle of puffing smoke are familiar faces.

Reiner is on his Prussian blue couch with his lumbering boyfriend resting his long legs upon his lap, both chuckling their asses off at some sort of joke someone passed. Ymir is leaning on her head on the side of it, laughing also, though to a lesser extent, making it seem like it was she to told the joke. Connie is lying on his back on the rug, scowling for whatever reason. Probably the joke. Eren—very, very much to Armin’s surprise—is here as well and now Armin can’t help but worry further because _if Mikasa found out_ —

The thought is cut off when he sees the final member of the high circle, slouching in the loveseat. Annie.

The moment he steps in, she’s taking a long drag on the blunt, and all six pairs of red eyes are on him.

“Armin,” Eren says with a smile. “Hey!” They all grin, except for Annie. He doesn’t expect her to.

Anger surges through him suddenly. “Guys,” the thin blond says. “What the _fuck?_ ”

 “Whoa, chill!” Reiner shoots up, sending Bertoldt’s feet to the floor, and stumbles to Armin. He nudges the smaller boy inside and closes the door. “Chill, chill, coco. Then he wobbles back to the couch.

“Guys, it’s 3 in the afternoon, the new landlady has been here for two weeks and you’ve got your window open. How many times do I have to tell you to conceal your drug use?”

“Chiiiillll,” Ymir says.

“Stop telling me to chill!” he cries, throwing his hands up. “I know it’s totally legal, but do you really want this reputation with Hanji?”

Annie passes the stubby blunt to Reiner who gladly takes it. “ _Dude_ ,” she says slowly, the white smoke billowing from her mouth, “Who peed in your waffles this morning?”

Armin puts his hands on his hips. “We didn’t have waffles this morning, we had crepes. You of all people would know—“ He growls suddenly and shakes his head, setting his mind back on track. “Never mind! I came here because I was worried about where you were, you scared me to death!” He really can’t bring himself to be as harsh to her as he was being to the others. He really can’t.

She rolls her eyes, as if she were his teenage daughter in rebellion, and looks away. “Sorry.” What astonishes him is that the apology isn’t sarcastic.

“I just—“ He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sigh.

“Armin, it’s _fine_ ,” Connie says. He obviously the least high. “We’ve got in under control. Also, I’m sorry I got dragged into it. I’ll probs not be in class tomorrow.”

Armin lets his hand drag down his cheek. “I have to go get ready for work now.” Now he’s combing his fringe as he turns to the door. “Just don’t get caught, okay,” he sighs, exiting.

“Okay!”

* * *

 

Reiner calls him up at the end of his shift, just as he’s exiting Starbucks. He’d asked Pixis for overtime to vanquish that spark of unforeseen rage that’d shook him earlier. He’s successfully mellow again, especially after a bit of talking it out with Marco, the saint. So when the call comes, Armin tries his hardest to apologize but Reiner merely brushes it away and says his own apology with a tired chuckle. Then he asks him to come get Annie, who’d apparently been asleep for hours.

He sighs, glad that yet another one of his friends’ antics has passed within the day.

He goes to get Annie.

Tonight is lovely, illuminated with warm streetlights and filled with the light chatter on young night-owls and mother and fathers taking their children for late night strolls. He almost dreads the decrescendo of sound when he ups the stairs to Reiner’s floor.

Armin knocks and the door is opened less than a second later by the bodybuilder himself. He’s tilting his had back and draining the last of the water from his water bottle, its plastic walls crackling in his big hand. When he swallows, he’s waving him inside and blinking rapidly.

“Sorry again,” he says, stepping over a sleeping Connie. “It was just two blunts but none of them could handle it. Twas really a bad idea.”

“It’s fine. I guess,” Armin replies, maneuvering around Eren. Reiner stops and stoops down at the loveseat to take Annie into his arms. Then he turns back to Armin to show him her sleeping form. “She couldn’t get to the second one. Here.” He pushes her closer to Armin who blushes when his eyes fall upon her angelic face.

“Reiner, I-I don’t think I can—“

“Dude, she’s lighter than one would think.” Reiner nudges her closer. Armin tentatively, shyly holds his arms out but immediately pulls them back just as his wrist touches her back.

“W-Wait—Wait.” Face steaming, he turns and crouches a bit. “Put her on my back. I-It’s easier that way.” Reiner is silent but after a moment of small grunts as he—Armin is assuming—tries to position Annie to put her on his back, he feels the light pressure of her weight. Hooking his hands on his legs, he stands erect. Reiner was right. She _is_ lighter than expected.

“O-kay,” Reiner says oddly, flopping Annie’s arms over his shoulders. “I guess that works. You okay?”

“Yes.” Armin swallows on impulse. “I’m good.”

“Alright.” Reiner grins and follows him out the door. “See you later, little guy. Gotta bundle these numbskulls up before I go to bed.” He waves from atop the floor landing.

Armin grins too.

The walk home, though short, is as wonderful and pleasant as the night itself. And just as whimsical. Gradually, the limp arms dangling over his shoulders begin to move and they link to one another. Then Annie’s chin slides from his shoulder down to where her nose is poked him. She hums quietly, then sighs.

“Annie?” he almost whispers, skin rising in temperature.

“Mm.” Her breathing is a slow, soothing sound. “Armin? Reiner.”

He smiles. “No, this is Armin.”

She sighs again and rests her head on his shoulder. “…Sorry. For going and getting high. And not texting you.”

“I’m over it.” He shrugs. He hears the smack of lips and Annie opens her mouth wide to yawn into his ear. Unintentional, he knows, but the feeling of breath to the now reddening pieces of cartilage makes his entire body stiff. A wave of nerves sparks from his head down his back.

“Either way,” she drawls, “I’m sorry.” He takes a breath to recalibrate. Much too Canadian. This isn’t her. She must be _very_ tired. He wants to ask if she’s alright, but she beats him to the punch, “I don’t feel so hot…”

“Oh…” Armin reaches their door, hops up a bit and leans forward to keep Annie in his back, and fishes his key from his pocket. “D-Don’t you worry. I’ll brew you some tea and we can watch The Breakfast Club and veg out on the couch. Ça va?”

“Hm,” he hears her chuckle to his shoulder.

They spend the night drinking tea together and watching a grade A film, immersed in four, maybe five plush throws and blankets. They sit in their cocoon of warmness, not talking, and only letting the brawl of words between Bender and Clark fill the apartment and Armin likes it when Annie quietly points out how Brian is like Bertoldt. However she _is_ tired from the day and she falls asleep on his shoulder at the famous dance scene. He can’t blame her. He leans back onto the couch arm with Annie atop his chest and readjusts the blankets over them, then returns to the movie. He has to admit, though, he’s quite sleepy. After a day like today? Of course.

Armin doesn’t make to the end of the film.

But he slept alright that night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be a good one but I'm tired and comin' down with something so here's my best. Apologies if I didn't meet your expectations.
> 
> Next time: Armin misses a day. Heichou?! So...Thanksgiving, right?


	8. DISCONTINUED

Hi. So it's been a while. I'm deeply sorry for that and for this message. Life on Standstill won't be updating again.

I sincerely apologize to anyone still anticipating updates for this work after 3 someodd years of impromptu hiatus. As much as I want to continue writing this and possibly revise much of it for the sake of the readers, I've lost all interest in SNK and no longer wish to keep on with it.

For the past 3 years, I've been hoping that this would simply slip from people's memories and be forgotten and not be relevant anymore but I still continue to receive notifications about it. So here I've decided to set things straight.

Sorry that I at least wasn't able to write the start of Armin and Annie's romantic relationship, or flesh out anyone's characters, or even go into plans for the fic in depth. I remember having big plans for this but there's truly no point to continue now. I'll leave the fic up for anyone who'd still like to give it a read, or re-read now that this notice will end up in some people's inboxes because of their subscription.

**For those wishing to know what were to happen to Armin and Annie after the note I left them on, I do have part of the next chapter written from 2014 and stored away in my OneDrive. If you'd like to read that, then just DM me here or on my tumblr (starstormie) and I'll gladly share.**

And finally, if you feel so forlorn over this fic and would like it to continue, maybe DM me and I'll let you continue the story! (A lame offer but still I wanted to put it on the table!)

Sorry once again, folks. Hope to see you guys in the feed of a possible Overwatch fic!


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